


Ruffled Feathers

by TantalumCobalt



Category: White Collar
Genre: Birds, Gen, Neal is a bird whisperer, Peter is disapproving, Pets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 02:35:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8560042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TantalumCobalt/pseuds/TantalumCobalt
Summary: In which Neal becomes a bird whisperer and Peter is unimpressed.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LeesaPerrie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeesaPerrie/gifts).



> Just a short fic for the Fall Fest over on Collar Corner to finally get me posting in this fandom. There will, at some point in the future, be a coda to this fic but I have no idea when it will actually get written. 
> 
> Thank you to LeesaPerrie for the wonderful prompt of Neal with a feathered pet. Your facts on LJ have inspired a fascination with vultures which became this fic. I hope you enjoy x
> 
> Happy reading all, and please leave feedback in the comments :)

It's a bright, sunny morning in early July and when Peter arrives early to pick up Neal he expects to find him eating breakfast on the terrace. Instead, he and June are laughing over toast and coffee at his dining table.

"Morning, Peter!"

It's still early enough that that much cheer - he'd swear the sun glinting of the con man's infamous pearly whites is almost blinding - is unappreciated. And on a Monday no less. Nobody is supposed to be happy, let alone enthusiastic, on Monday mornings.

"I thought you'd be sitting outside with your million-dollar view," he says (not at all bitterly) as he accepts a cup of June's Italian roast. Neal has a thing about being outside, he's noticed; namely that he takes every opportunity to be outside rather than in unless extreme weather prevents it. He's always wondered whether that need to be in open space, with the sun on his face and the wind teasing the stubborn strands of hair that refuse to be gelled down, is a biproduct of spending nearly four years in prison or something from his life beforehand. A few times he's almost asked, but he knows Neal won't give a straight, truthful answer anyway.

His CI frowns, but it's only slight, smooth around the edges, like someone has inconvenienced him but he's too fond of the person to be annoyed. "Judith still isn't quite used to unfamiliar people. She doesn't mind Moz and I but June has yet to be welcome in her own home."

The last part is said teasingly and June laughs like it's an inside joke. Peter might have laughed as well except that he has no idea what the joke is. He briefly wonders whether this is some kind of con.

"Judith?" he asks.

Neal shrugs. "Don't look at me, Mozzie named her. And I'm still not sure whether it was after that librarian in Athens or Judy Dench."

Peter files that little tidbit of information away for future analysis (when the hell were they in Athens?) then gets back to the point. "And who - or what - is Judith?"

Neal looks momentarily baffled by the thought that Peter has no idea what he's talking about. "Oh, Judith is a vulture-" He waves a hand towards the open balcony doors and Peter turns to look for the bird, his eyes finally picking out a nest tucked into a corner. Beady eyes glare back at him and he resists the urge to shiver. "-I assumed Elizabeth would have told you but apparently not."

Peter drags himself away from his stareoff with the bird to refocus on his CI. "Why would my wife tell me you have a pet vulture?"

"Judith isn't a pet, that would be illegal." The implied and I would never do anything illegal (cue innocent smile) is almost lost in the absurdity of the situation. "And Mozzie told Elizabeth because he wanted to borrow a wild bird book he saw at your place last time he was there."

They only own one wild bird book, as far as Peter knows, a Christmas present from his father one year. But it lives in a box in the attic and he has no idea how Mozzie could have seen it. (Actually, he has quite a few ideas but they're neither comforting nor legal so he decides not to think too much about it. Ignorance is bliss and all that.)

"Right." Peter nods like it all makes sense and takes another gulp of his coffee. "Well why don't you put some clothes on and then you can tell me why you have a non-pet vulture on the way to the office."

Neal gives him one of those looks that means he can't believe Peter hasn't figured it out yet - the I know I'm smart but you're not that slow look that grates on his nerves every single time. "She's nesting, Peter, I couldn't just shoo her away."

Somehow, he makes it sound like he's doing something noble by sharing his million-dollar view with a vulture.

"Neal - clothes." He says impatiently. It's too damn early to be dealing with the finer points of Neal's eccentric chivalry. He shakes his head. Of all the birds in all of New York... vultures. Why couldn't it have been parrots? At least those are colourful.

(Outside, the bird hisses.)

\--

On Thursday night a week later Peter makes the impulsive decision to stop by Neal's before meeting El for dinner. By the time he finishes at the office it's late enough that there's no point going home and back, but still too early to go to the restaurant. The mansion on Riverside Drive is the perfect place to kill some time before their seven-thirty reservation. Besides, it's always good to stop in and check on Neal, keep him on his toes, make sure he isn't planning any daring gallery heists.

The terrace doors are open when Peter lets himself into the apartment. He heads that way without thought but freezes with only one foot out the door. Neal is leaning against the low wall around the terrace, his back to the apartment, and suddenly Peter's heart is in his throat because there's a large, glossy black bird sitting on his shoulder.

"Neal?"

He's aiming for calm, the way one would approach a skittish animal or a high-profile hostage situation, but it comes out louder than expected (and more high-pitched than he'll ever admit). Neal turns slightly, his movements as easy and graceful as always. The bird turns its head, wings lifting as though it's about to take off, but it just resettled its weight and nudges at Neal's ear. He lifts a hand to absently run a finger over its head even as he smiles at Peter.

"Hey, Peter, what are you doing here? I thought you were having dinner with El."

Peter ignores the question; there are far more pressing matters at hand. Starting with: "You said that thing wasn't a pet."

Neal tilts his head so he can peer up at the bird then looks back at Peter. He shrugs the shoulder not acting as a perch. "He isn't. He's just... friendly. I think he must be tame, maybe raised in a zoo or an avery."

"Of course it was." Because not just any vulture would make it's home on Neal's terrace. No, it would have to be a tame one. Peter can just imagine the conspiracy theories Mozzie must have come up with by now.

He starts to move forward then stops, remembering Neal's comment the other day that the vulture doesn't like unfamiliar people. It's staring at him intently; shrewd black eyes boring into his soul, probably imagining tearing his flesh off his bones or pecking his eyes out or-

"You know," Neal says conversationally, eyes sparkling with mirth in the way that Peter has come to be wary of. It usually means he's Up To Something. "They smell fear."

Peter rolls his eyes but takes the hint and takes several steps forward. It brings him uncomfortably close to the bird but he tries not to let his unease show. If Neal can be relaxed around the bird, he can be relaxed around the bird.

There's a sound like a hiss from the corner where the nest is hidden in shadow and the bird on Neal's shoulder takes off with a low grunt. As it swoops past his head, Peter catches a glimpse of white stars on the underside of its wings. He watches curiously as it settles on the nest, surprised to see that another one is there already. Mother and father, he guesses.

"There are two of them now?"

"Søren was out hunting the other day," Neal replies, absently smoothing the material of his t-shirt where the bird's talons had caused creases.

"Søren?"

"Mozzie." Neal's eyeroll is fond. "Anyway, what did you need?"

Peter's turns away from the glimmering black eyes and looks into vibrant blue. It's just as electrifying, but at least he's had time to get used to Neal's eyes (his greatest weapon, June had once said, and Peter hadn't been sure whether she was being serious or just using the cliche for cliche's sake). And, unlike the stupid bird, Neal's eyes aren't a bottomless chasm of evil.

Just a bottomless chasm of mischief and mayhem.

"I wanted to make sure you weren't up to something," Peter says. "The last thing I need is a reported gallery heist interrupting a nice dinner out with my wife."

"Don't be ridiculous, Peter, I wouldn't want to make Elizabeth mad." Neal winks. "I'd wait until after dinner."

Peter rolls his eyes. "Go back to your bird whispering, Doolittle."

Neal grins at the nickname. Peter pretends not to be amused when he turns up for work in a top hat the next day.

\--

The eggs hatch five weeks later. They're skinny and fluffy and - ugly, Peter thinks. They're really, really ugly. But Mozzie is watching him with hostility from behind a glass of wine (Peter had made it no secret that he's not a fan of the vulture family who've moved in on his CI's terrace) so he doesn't say that out loud. Instead, he schools his face into a semblance of a smile and says, "Cute. What are their names?"

Neal beams like a proud father.

\--

Gustav and Edgar quickly become popular in the office. Nobody seems to care that they're vultures, just that they're baby animals covered in fluff. Peter would be more disappointed in his agents if he didn't know that Neal could sell spiders to an arachnophobe.

It's not unusual to see groups of agents clustered around the CI's desk, oohing and ahhing over photos of the damn vultures. Even Diana and Jones, who Peter can usually rely on to back his play, have gone over to the dark side.

"Vultures are seriously misunderstood creatures," Diana informs him when he questions her interest in the ghastly birds. "Why should they be hated just because they have to scavenge their food instead of buying it at the supermarket?"

"My food isn't infested with diseases," Peter grumbles, glaring out at the latest batch of agents cooing over Neal's new pets.

Diana folds her arms and looks supremely unimpressed. "Actually, a vulture's stomach acid kills a lot of diseases, including rabies. We're all better off if they find carcasses instead of other animals like rats which may transmit it."

Peter glares, refusing to let a little bit of trivia sway his avid dislike of the feathered creatures. Lots of spiders do good things too but that doesn't mean he has to like them.

"Keeping them as pets is still illegal," he mutters.

Diana rolls her eyes and leaves him to brood.

\--

When the stupid babies - "Edgar and Gustav", Neal reminds him with a great deal of patience - start following Neal to work, Peter puts his foot down. Two vultures hanging around outside the FBI building and chasing them through the city on cases is taking it too far. It wouldn't be so bad if they just sat in nearby trees or buildings, but the damn things have to keeping sitting on his CI's shoulder or arm and looking at Peter like he's the wild animal.

"How exactly are you going to stop them?" Neal asks, sounding more curious than annoyed that Peter is threatening to take away his pets.

Peter hasn't figured out exactly how he's going to stop them, though, so the question just makes the already-pulsing vein in his neck twitch. "Next time I see one of those things anywhere other than your terrace I'm calling animal control."

One of the vulture lands on Neal's hat and blinks slowly at him.

Peter sighs. Even the damn bird knows it's an empty threat.

\--

Almost a year after the vultures first moved in to the terrace on Riverside Drive, Neal shows up at his door with the wild bird book Mozzie had misappropriated and a bottle of red. And no vultures in tow.

"They're gone," he says when El asks about the birds over dinner. "Took off yesterday morning and haven't been back since."

"Oh sweetie, I'm sorry." El wraps Neal in a hug and gives Peter Meaningful Looks over his shoulder.

"Maybe they'll come back?" he suggests half-heartedly. He hadn't even liked the birds but that only seems to make him feel more guilty about not caring that they're gone.

Neal shrugs off his comment and pours himself another glass of wine. "I doubt it. I'm surprised they stayed this long, actually. Vultures are communal creatures, it's rare that a few of them would live alone away from a committee."

El and Peter exchange looks across the table. Unwavering smile or not, that sounds an awful lot like false bravado.

"Neal," El begins. "You know it's alright to be upset, don't you? Most people are when their pets are gone."

Neal watched her steadily, head tilted in that way he probably doesn't even realise he's doing when he cases a mark. It looks eerily similar to the way his vultures had looked at Peter. "Would it make you feel better if I cried on your shoulder?"

"No, that's not what I-"

"It's fine, Elizabeth." His smile is small but seemingly genuine. "I'm fine. They were just birds."

"Really?" Peter can't help the skepticism that colours his tone. He remembers having a goldfish that died when he was thirteen years old; there had definitely been tears.

The con man rolls his eyes. "Why is that so hard to believe? You didn't even like them."

"But you did."

That makes Neal pause, witty retort dying on his tongue. He takes another sip of wine to cover the moment and it may have fooled anyone else but Peter has spent years learning everything there is to know about the con man's behaviour. Everything about this - coming to his house, bringing wine, trying too hard to be casual - screams denial. Or maybe, the part of Peter's brain that likes to remind him how little he actually knows about Neal's past whispers, he's never had a pet before and doesn't know what to do now that he's lost them.

"They were just birds," Neal repeats eventually.

Elizabeth and Peter exchanges looks again, but when Neal changes the topic they let him. Peter would much rather talk about his wife's upcoming functions than the stupid birds anyway.

\--

Two weeks later Peter shows up at Neal's apartment and finds him and Mozzie feeding parrots. He bites back a sigh and takes a moment to be thankful that at least these ones don't eat carcasses.


End file.
